


Respite

by sevenofspade



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Revenge of the Sith, F/M, Gen, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:18:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6626905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/pseuds/sevenofspade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the war slows down, just a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy reading this!

Padmé put down her datapad. She knew she should not be reading about Ana-- about _Vader_ this late in the day. What he'd become -- the Emperor's Rancor, the holonews called him now -- what he'd done, what he still did... None of it was good for her sleep, but she had to know.

She'd already sacrificed so much for the good of the Rebellion, for the good of the galaxy; what was a little sleep compared to the rest?

"Padmé," Sabé said. She handed Padmé a cup of steaming caf and sat down next to her on the couch.

Padmé wrapped her fingers around the cup, feeling the heat seep into her fingers and warming her bones. The caf was the kind Riyo liked -- in her house it was hardly surprising --, spiced with ashan and lailai, but knowing Sabé she had dropped enough sugar in there to rot Padmé's teeth. As younger women, back when Padmé had been Queen, the two of them had engaged in a competition to see who could drink the sweetest caf. The invasion had put an end to that, like it had put an end to so many things.

Padmé took a sip. The taste of it was much too sweet, but the reminder of her childhood warmed Padmé's heart more than anything else could. 

Sabé pulled her in a sideways hug.

Padmé fell against her. Well. More than almost anything.

Sabé reached across her to flip over the datapad. "You don't need to do this to yourself, you know that. I can keep an eye on what His Nibs is doing for you."

"His Nibs?" Obi-Wan's voice startled Padmé and cut off her chuckle.

Padmé looked up at the shape of Obi-Wan, outlined in the doorway by the light in the corridor. In the shadows like this, she could not see his face.

"Darth Skywalker," Sabé said. This was the closest Sabé had come to using either of his names since the Empire. It had caught on and now neither the Emperor nor his attack rancor were referred by their names. It was as if Sabé had started another competition and the winner was whoever came up with the silliest still recognisable name for either. If Sabé could still find a way to make others laugh at their situation, the galaxy wasn't as doomed as Padmé sometimes thought.

Sabé kept a hand on Padmé even once Padmé had sat back up. Then she stood, patted Padmé on the shoulder and said, "I leave you in General Kenobi's capable hands." To Obi-Wan, she said, "You take good care of her."

"Of course, General Accu," Obi-Wan said.

Sabé took the datapad as she left. Sabé and Obi-Wan had been friends, before Mustaphar, but she'd never forgiven him. Padmé knew Obi-Wan would never hurt her, but she'd thought the same thing of Anakin. How easily did divided loyalties turn to splinters tearing hearts apart. Anakin had had her, the Jedi and Palpatine. Obi-Wan had her cause and the Jedi – what was left of them. Sabé's loyalty belonged to Padmé alone. If Obi-Wan did hurt her, Sabé would be there.

Padmé had forgiven him. She had gone to Mustaphar herself, after all – she wasn't entirely convinced Sabé had forgiven her for that – so she could not blame him and she could not fault him for refusing to fight Anakin who he loved no less than she did.

What a pair the two of them made. Leaders of the losing side of the war, the hole left by the enemy they both loved in every silence between them.

Obi-Wan sat down on the chair opposite the couch. The light of the setting sun fell on him delicately, as though he’d break if it forced itself at him. 

He looked tired and bone-weary, older than his age. His shoulders sagged and there was the beginning of grey in his hair, now he'd started growing it again. He had a smudge of hastily wiped soot all across one cheek.

"Come here," Padmé said.

He got up and moved around the low table to kneel at her feet. He looked up at her. She looked away. It was painful, when he looked at her like that, but less so for her than for him, she imagined. She was not Jedi; she was allowed emotions.

She looked back at him and brushed her thumb against his cheekbone to wipe the soot away. He closed his eyes at the contact. It did not make things better, or easier.

She stopped trying to erase the mark on him, curving her palm against the side of his face. She waited.

He opened his eyes, confusion written on his features.

She thought about kissing him. It was not as though neither of them wanted to. But she had loved and been loved by one Jedi already and the Republic had fallen because of that love. That love was the reason her children lived on Alderaan and Chandrila, apart from each other, apart from her. 

She rested her forehead against his, her hand still on his face, his beard beneath her palm, his pulse calm under her fingers. For a moment, she let herself forget about the war, about the Empire, about Anakin, about all of it. For that moment, she let herself breathe the same air as Obi-Wan and feel the nearness of him, the warm human heat and smell of ash and smoke.

Then she remembered who she was, who he was, who they were, and began pulling away.

Obi-Wan caught her wrist lightly. He kissed the inside of her palm, the barest brush of lips against her skin.

He let her go and she pressed a kiss to his forehead.


End file.
